


Spread Your Wing

by bearmitage



Series: (Ineffable Husbands) The Ineffable Playlist [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Feels, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Communicating (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gentle Sex, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Smut, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Trauma, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29275311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearmitage/pseuds/bearmitage
Summary: Crowley hates his own wings, to be precise, he hates how they look and how they remind him of what happened, of his old self, of the Fall.Aziraphale has a different take on it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: (Ineffable Husbands) The Ineffable Playlist [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2162808
Comments: 12
Kudos: 85





	Spread Your Wing

Aziraphale recalls the last time when he saw Crowley’s wings before that one time very briefly during Armageddon on the wall of Eden. 

  
  


The wings that once had been as white as snow were burnt by the flame when Crowley _fell_ and are now dark grey like the sky in the starless night, almost black, like a black swan’s wings. And if one will pay more attention closely to those feathers, one will see that the wings were pinioned. And you do not pinion a bird unless you would like to keep it grounded forever so it will always fall and never be able to fly up again. Perhaps that is what it was after all. 

  
  


And there is the reason why Aziraphale or anyone in hell and heaven and anywhere in between rarely sees the demon’s wings. 

  
  


_Crowley hates his own wings_.

  
  


Aziraphale is well aware why Crowley hates his own wings though the demon never utters a word. He hates how they look and how they remind him of what happened, of his old self, of all things that he wishes he could forget, of the _Fall_.

  
  


_Crippled, they call him. Crooked, they scorn him. Fallen, they condemn him._

  
  


Nevertheless, Aziraphale has a different take on it.

  
  


Crowley is now looking utterly nervous with his fingers mildly shaking and shallow breathing, which is nearly invisible if one does not pay close attention. The rare look, really, because the demon stopped being nervous around him millennia ago, not even when he was stark naked for the first time in front of him. He is a confident being, totally opposite of Aziraphale, and he adores that.

  
  


It is because of the _wings_.

  
  


The long feathers spread wide and free in their bedroom whilst their owner sits completely still in Aziraphale’s lap with those bewitching amber eyes dilating that the sclera is barely visible. He looks divine like this, nothing but those beautiful wings fluttering gently in the air. 

  
  


“We do not need to do this if you do not want to, my dear,” remarks Aziraphale about the wings, or rather repeats as he did say that when he saw the hesitance in Crowley’s face when he asked the demon if he could see his wings, “You know I will never want to do anything that you do not wish to do, don’t you?”

  
  


“‘Course, angel, I do,” replies Crowley, licking his lower lip and barely looking at him in the eyes, “It’s just, well, I just— I just found they look _odd_ , that’s all.”

  
  


“Well, let me assure you that they do not. It is all in your pretty head, darling,” he replies with an encouraging smile on his face and a light touch from the tip of his finger on the demon’s temple.

  
  


“Oh— so demons be crazy, eh?” Crowley gives him a theatrical pout that makes him chuckle. “‘S fine, angel. It really is.”

  
  


Aziraphale nods and places his lips on his demon’s lips gently, both hands guiding those slender and delicate hands to rest on top of his shoulders. Crowley complies. He trails the kiss down the side of his perfectly long neck. As he wraps his arms around Crowley’s waist and tugs him closer, the demon squirms.

  
  


“Tell me if it is too much for you, will you, dearheart?” he whispers next to Crowley’s neck and the demon replies with the hum quietly in his throat. 

  
  


Their touch is slow and gently like the first time they made love. Aziraphale remembers when he told the demon that he was willing to wait for eternity if that was what it took for Crowley to be ready and his serpent scoffed lightly, thinking Aziraphale was being dramatic and that was just an exaggeration. It was not.

  
  


Aziraphale rolls his hips, roaming his hands all around Crowley’s body. That earns him a hitching gasp. One of those hands slides down from his shoulder and places on one of Aziraphale’s hands before guiding it up against his mouth.

  
  


That serpent tongue brushes against the tips of his fingers very lightly like a fragile spider leg on its web before taking two of them in his mouth. Aziraphale groans softly at the sight, letting the demon do what he wants.

  
  


Those wide eyes look at him whilst sucking his fingers, making a show out of it as usual. Honest to the Almighty, Aziraphale can see the smirk on that face but then Crowley’s eyes trail off to something behind his back and suddenly go shut. 

  
  


And Aziraphale is fully aware why— _mirror_ — _Crowley does not want to see himself like that. With those wings_ — and that makes Aziraphale’s heart, well, if the celestial beings have any, aches.

  
  


He decides not to bring that up or repeat himself on insisting that they can always stop if Crowley does not wish to continue. He knows his serpent is not fond of hearing what others think he should or can do although that is the truth. ‘It is like I’m being treated like a baby.’ that is what he says. So Aziraphale decides to make it pleasant so he can take the demon’s mind off that particular internal battle he is fighting instead.

  
  


Crowley’s brows furrow and the keening moan leaves those lips when Aziraphale’s soaking wet fingers leave his mouth and re-enter his body in a different way. 

  
  


“Does that feel good, my love?” asks Aziraphale, lifting another hand that is free to wind into the fiery red hair to put his head to the side before placing a sucking kiss on Crowley’s neck, “Tell me how you feel.”

  
  


His demon writhes at the touch, hands grabbing at his curly blonde lock in an eminently weak attempt to find something to hold on to when Aziraphale presses against that bundle of nerves that make him see the stars he once helped create.

  
  


“Y— yes, ‘s good, ‘s—” Crowley finally manages to utter his answer, burying his face in Aziraphale’s hair. “ _Fucking hell_.” 

  
  


Those fingers move, scissoring him open with the firm, assuring pressure until the demon in his lap looks like someone has picked apart his sanity wholly— like he can come from this alone. 

  
  


Suddenly, Aziraphale stops, earning a shaky desperate noise from his serpent’s throat. “Oh, rest easy, darling, I have got you,” Teasing Crowley, he curls his fingers to send the heavenly pleasure up his spine, “Just tell me what you need.”

  
  


But Crowley will always be Crowley. He remains silent, now burying his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. He is too afraid to ask— _always thinking he does not deserve any good things._

  
  


“Use your words, dearheart,” says Aziraphale gently, inserting the third finger in that hot velvety hole. Crowley lets out a surprised choking noise, the one that escaped before he could bite his own lip so it would not slip. But then the demon refuses to talk, and Aziraphale picks up the challenge to make him _talk_.

  
  


He rubs his fingers against that sensitive spot inside of him whilst keeping his hand that is on the slender waist firmly, making it impossible for Crowley to move. Aziraphale observes his serpent closely, taking that opportunity whilst those gorgeous eyes are hiding away from him. 

_Not enough_ — Aziraphale is aware that it is not enough for Crowley.

  
  


“You deserve it, my love,” Crowley whines like a wounded animal when the pressure is increased, shaking his head when he hears Aziraphale’s words, “You simply need to say it, tell me.”

  
  


Naturally, he will never hurt or put his demon in the helpless position, let alone forcing him. Nonetheless, Aziraphale also wants Crowley to know that he _deserves_ anything and everything that he is more than willing to give. And he wants Crowley to _say_ it. 

  
  


Every little touch sends the bolt through Crowley’s body and the hand which has turned into a fist and those knuckles that are now completely white from the clench are trembling and— 

  
  


“ _Please,_ ” something quiet, barely audible, leaves the serpent’s lips.

  
  


“What was that, Crowley?” asks Aziraphale, not that he did not catch it the first time though.

  
  


Crowley’s breathe hitches, “Please, angel, I— ”

  
  


“Tell me that you deserve it,” commands Aziraphale softly, nuzzling his nose on the sweat-soaked hair of his demon. “You have been so good, and that is the truth, so you need to tell me that you have been good. You always are, my dear.”

  
  


“I—” it is difficult and Aziraphale knows it. His own body is scorching like the Hellfire and his neglected member is painfully hard. He wants Crowley so badly. But this is not about him, he wants Crowley to _realise_ that he deserves it. To _acknowledge_ it. To actually _believe_ it. “I, ngk, _angel_ , please—”

  
  


“Say it, darling, say that you are good and you deserve everything good, that you deserve this,” he whispers into Crowley’s ears, keeping him close to his chest whilst his demon is shaking his head in the crook of his neck, “Just say it and I will give you everything.”

  
  


But before he may say anything else, Aziraphale felt the drop of wetness on the crook of his neck. He freezes for a millisecond and gently pulls Crowley’s face up to face him.

  
  


The sight just tears his heart into pieces— _Crowley is crying_.

  
  


“I don’t— angel, I don’t—,” babbles Crowley between the sob, “ _I don’t deserve it._ ”

  
  


“Of course, you do,” Aziraphale says it though he knows Crowley does not want to hear that and places kisses on his soaking wet eyelashes and his fingers leave Crowley’s body, making him whimper from the painful emptiness, “You always do, Crowley.”

  
  


And Aziraphale proves that he means it. He buries himself inside Crowley completely, seeing his serpent’s whole body including his wings jolt from the overwhelming pleasure and hearing that _angelic_ whine.

  
  


The demon’s eyes are closed tightly, his face looks up to the ceiling and his back arches when he thrusts his hips upwards. Those gorgeous wings flutter harder and Aziraphale reaches out to brush the feather so very lightly—

  
  


Crowley moans in a voice that sounds like he just broke into pieces and his eyes snap open but before he can close them again, Aziraphale quickly says, “Look at me, darling. Look into my eyes.”

  
  


And Crowley does, their foreheads touch and those amber gems stare into his blue eyes. Aziraphale only hopes that his demon will see that— he hopes Crowley will see someone who is good, who is worthy, who _deserves to be loved and cherished._

  
  


Aziraphale strokes those feathers gently at first, then a bit bolder. It is nearly ineffable to describe how it feels to hold them. It is like keeping the air in his hands, or touching the clouds, or holding onto the pure light, even Aziraphale himself cannot describe it. Then he kisses them, showing Crowley how much he adores him and who he is and everything about him. 

  
  


And in his lap, the demon moans like Aziraphale is now stroking his soul.

  
  


“Angel— angel, _ah_ , I—” gasps Crowley breathlessly, face looking up to the sky once again with his mouth hanging open from all the pleasures he is rightfully given, “I’m going to—”

  
  


“Let go, Crowley,” encourages Aziraphale softly, “Come for me, dearheart, I have got you.” 

  
  


He places another gentle kiss on one of those quivering feathers and that is all it takes for the beautiful mess in his arms to become undone. Crowley closes his eyes, looking like he sees all the stars and nebulas he once painted behind his eyelids and crying out his name then resting his head on Aziraphale’s neck. And one, two more thrusts from his own hips and Aziraphale hears himself repeat _I love you_ over and over whilst he holds his demon close as he finishes inside of him.

  
  


And everything becomes completely still as if the time is now frozen around them.

  
  


There was a long silence whilst they were trying to catch their breath and listening to each other’s heartbeats before Crowley, surprisingly, breaks it with a quiet voice, “ _Thank you, angel._ ”

  
  


Aziraphale gently pulls Crowley away from his neck so he can look into those eyes before asking with an adoring smile on his face, “For what, my dear? The good thwarting, you meant?” 

  
  


Crowley rolls his eyes at his tease and smirk before licking his lips and answering, “You know what I meant.”

  
  


Undoubtedly, Aziraphale knows what Crowley meant. It is rather sad that his demon is still not capable of fully believing that he is worthy. That he is more than good enough. That he is not what they have called, scorned and condemned him. That he deserves all of these and if heaven and hell will ever come for them again, they will never change Aziraphale’s mind and that he is willing to give him anything and sacrifice everything only for him.

  
  


And Aziraphale now has eternity to prove that.

  
  


And he will— _because Crowley deserves it._

**Author's Note:**

> I was reading about swans and how humans clip/pinion their wings to ground them permanently then it reminds me of that one post on Tumblr about Crowley's wings being pinioned and here we are. And oh, thank Queen for the title lol
> 
> I hope you will enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it (well, I did enjoy writing it though I did bawl my eyes out thinking about how traumatised my snake boi would be when he fell and want to hug him very badly ;-;)
> 
> Love you xx
> 
> P.S. if you feel like saying hi or dropping by, please feel free to find me on Twitter @bearmitage <3


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